The Needs

The Poptones bus has rolled into Soho. Again. And the mere thought of this will already have many of you running to your nearest music mag bonfire, while you ritually dance to the most un-scene band you can think of. We know that some of you would rather listen to Clunt than one of the exports from the Poptones/Death Disco/Mates of Doherty camps, for the mere fact alone they are tagged with this label.

That's just silly.

Anyhow, what about Roland Shanks? Surely THEY are nothing of the sort? They are certainly getting better and look less scared onstage. The fact they take their sound from the bands most grossly cool to namedrop at the moment (Talking Heads, early Cure (don't forget the EARLY), Joy Division) it makes you wonder if this is an exercise in better-do-it-now-or-we-never-will or if they really want to shake the music biz by its foundations. For now they're just a little too Clor Lite and need to let the tunes rumble through the rattling basslines and harmonised yelping. The best thing about them is, by the end of their set, we're smiling and almost dancing - and that's a darn sight more than can be said for all the other style-over-substance claptrap your humble correspondent has seen this week.

Thekidswhopoptodaywillrocktomorrow, as some Scottish boys once opined. They were correct. Boy Kill Boy look and sound about as uncool as you can get which, of course, is half the appeal. They’re playing unashamed pop music yet have ended up sounding more like a '70s rock band discovering 'modern' synths in the '80s (think Yes' 'Owner of a Lonely Heart' with a firecracker up its bum), which is as ridiculous as it sounds and all the more entertaining for it. Anyone for ELO? There is nothing false about Boy Kill Boy. There is nothing questionable about their, ahem, actions. Boy Kill Boy play music you can dance to, smooch to and rock out to, and hooks – they have lots of. Many. Catch them supporting Blur or Bon Jovi or something – they could easily pull off both those feats, if they were to ever happen.

This leads us nicely onto London's most misunderstood dreamers, Special Needs, who are nothing short of a revelation tonight. Their doo-wop meets Dexys hoedown is a celebratory affair – the gig's sold out and goddamn sweaty. It is raining from the air conditioning. Any wetness just fuels the sweaty mass of bodies clawing for a piece of the Needs' increasingly flamboyant frontman, Zach (who – shock horror – can actually SING), ending up with his loose shirt on the verge of disintegration.

'Blue Skies' ambles out with shameless aplomb. "To the left! To the right!" being a quite stupid singalong, the tune becoming increasingly uplifting and beautiful. 'Sylvia' is still a lazy romp in the Jonathan Richman vein, now with added crowd interaction. 'Francesca' is tonight's favourite, by the sounds of the screams which meet its announcement. To these ears though, they've got far better tunes and are getting better all the time, while still being able to get away with the "na na na na" chorus in 'Tarts' (the song which originally made Yours Truly call them "the gay Razorlight" – a comment, believe it or not, intended as a compliment).

Special Needs have come along way and are well on the way to becoming a band who could change kids' lives. For the better. As long as Zach can keep it together...